


A Sundered Sword

by Gidget_PricelessBread



Series: A Sundered Sword [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Books, Gen, Literature, Post - A Game of Thrones, Post - A Song of Ice and Fire, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gidget_PricelessBread/pseuds/Gidget_PricelessBread
Summary: Our story takes place almost two decades after the finale of the show. Jon has spent his time in exile aiding the freefolk in their recovery after the others/Long Night. His struggle to raise his rambunctious, and curious daughter alone adds to the constant stress of keeping peace between all the tempestuous tribes of the free North.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> AU:
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read our first chapter. We are two long time friends with endearing love for a Song of Ice and Fire. However the Final season left us with a bitter taste in our mouth to say the least. We felt there were too many questions and loose ends left unanswered. Long story short, we came up with this story to help us answer those long time burning questions. The biggest one we felt- "What was the point of it all?". We hope our version of the story reflects in this answer and captivates those asking the same questions.
> 
> We wanted to thank our Beta Readers MerlinOfTheShire and others for reading through our drafts. All the insight you provided benefited us greatly.
> 
> We will be publishing the chapters on a bi-weekly basis starting out. If there are any updates to this schedule, we'll let you know! We'll try to release it every other Monday 7-8 pm (Pacific Standard Time).
> 
> Please let us know what you think of the story, as we value any feedback given.
> 
> Sent with love,
> 
> PricelessBread
> 
> Gidget

** Jon**

  


Jon stood on the bank of the Frozen Shore, the pier that a handful of wildlings are constructing is the last brick in the foundation of all his and Tormund's work, it was nostalgic to say the least. fifteen years have passed since Jon had accepted his punishment for murdering the woman he had fallen in love with his queen, for the sake of the Seven Kingdoms; now Six Kingdoms with Sansa sitting as Queen of the North in Winterfell. 

He’s aged as all Stark men do, gray around the edges but body still lean and strong. He was built to withstand the harsh winters, and being in the land Over the Wall; he has withstood too many to count. The years he has spent with the Wildlings have been fruitful. Tormund and himself work together with his sister to set up a trading route that stretched from the Wall all the way to Hardhome. The success of their trade posts has been surprising. 

He could still picture their pitiful bearings they praised once as protection against the unforgiving winter. What had started off as a handful of tattered, thread-barren tents and decaying wood shacks- tactfully used for holding cured meats, and furs, has since developed into compact stone strongholds with tent villages surrounding their stone fortress. Freefolk men and women were often eager to fill their bellies, and stock up their supplies, however they lacked the necessary materials to barter. They were instead willing to labor for trade. Which helped their trading posts to become stronger and better fortified. 

Hardhome is regarded as being the largest with the most settlers. But the Wildlings still had the blood of the first men, this ancient nomadic tradition wouldn’t be easily broken. Jon estimated it would take years before they would even consider settling down, but like a wild mare being guided, it was possible for them to succumb to the idea. Many had warmed to the thought of setting up permanent residence, but the majority looked to expand and explore the lands beyond the Frostfang Mountains. Where it was once forbidden by the existence of the Others and the Night King. 

So Jon felt compelled to expand their posts to the far coast in the Far North-into the Land of Always Winter. There a dock is being built so Stark ships can bring the supply of food, building materials and goods to make sturdy, reliable weapons and tools. 

The dock sits on the inner part of the South Eastern coast along the Frozen Shore, where once Freefolk would take squalid rafts, neglected with time, to attack Bear Island; Now this port city will stand as what him and Sansa call Bear’s Reach. It may not be as versatile as King’s Landing or even White Harbour, however it would be a direct route to trade with Winterfell and most other major townships in the North. This port laid slightly inward within the peninsula of the Sea of Ice. Bear Island lay southwest, however it was too far to be even be seen as a speck. Since the demise of the Night King, it’s been a farce to still consider the shores of this land still frozen. Ice had given way to slow warmth that crept up from the south. Where once you could walk on the sea with no worries, now it’s waves crashed against the land. Proving that the Others threat of existence was no more. It’s name still stood however as a reminder to all what previously lurked in the shadows beyond the wall.

It’s hard to believe everything he and Tormund had accomplished-but they were creating a better life for the Wildlings, or so he hoped. Many had graciously accepted aid from the south, however not all the Freefolk were on board. Some still saw it as welfare, and felt as if they were betraying their ancestors. They’d rather raid for crumbs, than accept the size and weight of an entire share of mutton, or bend the knee to a southern ruler. Jon understood their concerns, but knew his family better; Sansa has no intentions of ever forcing the wildlings to join the fold of her kingdom. She only wants to help aid those who survived the Long Night and saved humanity, also Bran saw no reason to bring the six kingdoms this far North, not in our lifetimes anyway. He and Tormund had expected this, further, they were wary of backlash to the east. Tormund’s return with a report on the other posts would hopefully bring good news and crucial information. 

“Father?” 

Jon felt a tugging at his fur cloak, as if throwing himself back into present time-he broke his trance of the wooden pier being constructed. Looking down his eyes met with the wide dark amethyst gaze of his daughter Astrin. She had his looks- the Stark near black hair wildly coiled around her long-slim face. Beside her Ghost loomed, his red eyes shifting watching all movement around them. Although the years and land have been kinder on Ghost since Jon’s exile, this did not hinder Ghosts protective nature to his pack. No matter where Jon or Astrin went, Ghost would lurk, and if the two went separate ways; Ghost would instinctively be instep with his daughter. 

“Is it time to go yet? You promised we would go hunting hours ago!” 

Jon smiled at her impatience, he couldn’t help but remember when Arya would beg and plead for him to take her hunting with Robb and himself. It pained his heart to think any harm came to her while travelling west of Westeros. However all the Stark’s seemed to be cut from a different cloth compared to others. Even those of the North and True North. Gods does Astrin remind Jon of her though. Besides their shared coloring, his daughter couldn’t break her yearning to be something more than a lady. Albeit he was in part to blame, as he kept her close by his side in the wilderness. Even after the passing of her mother, Tyenne. Sansa had offered to take her in as her own, to raise alongside her own son. However he couldn’t endure the thought of his only child being left both motherless, and bearing an absent father. 

“Father!” she stamped her foot for good measure snow falling from her dark curls.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting little wolf, we can go now.” 

The light that shone through those eyes has always made his heart melt. 

“I’ve got your hunting gear, so that you cannot have my bow, and arrows that Elva helped me make!” 

She pulled the rough wood bow and handmade arrows awkwardly around so he could see, not good enough to take a man down but would suffice for hunting small prey. 

“Your arrows have improved, Elva must be teaching you a great deal.” 

Jon picked out an arrow from her cache and balanced it on two fingers, 

“Very well balanced you should be able to catch something this time.”

He put the arrow back in her cache and started walking towards the tree line that lead into a dense forest area about 50 leagues from the pier. Astrin beamed from the compliment. 

“Aye father! The spear wives say that I’m a natural, they say I should learn how to wield a sword, or a spear! Or maybe a giant blade like Tormund!” 

Jon laughed at that proclamation, 

“You little one have eyes bigger than your size, if you are to learn how to wield a weapon, never forget you must be able to hold it.” 

Astrin looked to Longclaw- closely holstered to Jon’s side and then down at her gloved hands, most likely pondering how long it would take before she was strong enough to heft it’s heavy weight.

“But what if one day I grow up to be able to wield a big sword like that, then no one would dare cross me!” 

Jon bristled, he never wanted Astrin to grow up to be solely a fighter, he wanted her life to be more than just fighting to survive, he wanted her to know peace as he had wished for. That's why he started this. He allowed her the notion of learning to fight and hunt as an assurance that she could defend herself if the worst happened, Gods help him if it came to that.

“And why would you need to do that?” 

Astrin’s brows furrowed “Because father one day when I leave the posts I have to protect myself, like everyone else does.” 

Jon contemplated her response carefully, he didn’t want her to live outside of the trade posts, he didn’t see a need for her to trek across the frozen wastelands that once held the great tribes of the free folk, the very same tribes that the Night King made sure of their extinction for his senseless cause. 

He needed her here, to lead after Tormund and himself were gone, to continue the survival of their people who were almost completely wiped out between his own war as well as the battle of the Long Night. If Jon was being honest with himself, he’d rather she went back to Winterfell now that she’s older. It would benefit her to be taught by the maester there, and god’s be kind, take some of the wildness from her veins. 

His father who raised him, Lord Eddard Stark, often described this wildness as being ‘the Wolf’s Blood’. It was what Jon’s grandfather would say to describe some of his children, including his true mother. Jon would often muse this to being a gift passed down from her early grave to him, however more often than not- it’s become a curse when raising Astrin. He’d predicted it would be a pointless battle, one that he’d eventually lose. No matter where she would go, the true North would live on within her veins. Even Jon couldn’t shake the hold that the free North held when he went back to Winterfell for those short years. 

They had walked deeper into the woods, the pier now completely out of sight, all that surrounded them was the resilient oaks and pines, these trees served as history to this land, where the written word had no weight. They stood long before Jon was brought into this world and would remain after he’s left again. The smell of earth, with the freshly fallen snow filled the air. 

Jon placed a firm hand on Astrin’s shoulder, holding her in place as he kneeled before her, his Dark eyes connecting with her rare Valerian purple. He remembered a time when war was all that mattered to Westeros, lives were lost to those whose pride wouldn’t allow them to kneel. Those who became bloodthirsty for vengeance forfeit their duty and livelihood all on a whim for a new King and reigning family. As well as those who feared that their newfound titles would be stripped from them by older families. He weighed his words carefully before saying them, hoping they would reach Astrins ears.

“There is more to life than fighting my little wolf. War and bloodshed only benefit those in power, never those who sacrificed their lives for it, Tormund and I have seen what happens to those who glorify death; that is why we have fought so hard to teach the wildlings how to exist in peace, to work together to accomplish survival. One day when we die we need you to carry on this legacy, they need a strong but kind leader, one who cares about every living being here, do you understand?” 

A stubborn light flared in her eyes, 

“But father! I want to explore, to see what is beyond the wall! I want to travel to Westeros, and see Winterfell, and Aunt Sansa, to see the land of the south beyond that!”

Jon rose to his full height looking down at the girl who he watched come into this world, this may be her thirteenth year but she was still young and vulnerable. 

If she journeyed past the North Kingdom of Westeros he knew her fate. After what Daenerys’ had done, they would no longer forgive a Targaryen; and Astrin’s Stark features are betrayed by her eyes. A cruel reminder of his other diminished family legacy. The only reason he survived was his Stark coloring. As well his brother and sister’s mercy with his exile, never to return. 

“You know you cannot do that Astrin, you and I must stay here with our people.” 

“But Father-”

“No Astrin!”

Jon rarely ever raised his voice at his child, almost never, but to see a future where they hung, or tortured, or imprisoned his child because of ancient strife, was something he would never let happen.

“One day I will explain to you why we must remain here, but for now you must trust me Astrin, our place is in the North.” 

He could tell he’d shaken her with his sternness, he didn’t want to dissuade her curious nature but it would be best to nip it out now while she was young, before she realized her independence she would grow into with time. By then it would be too late to change her mind.

“Come along Astrin, it’s best to leave before midday if we’d like to make it back before dusk.” 

He started walking deeper into the forest, sensing both his loyal direwolf companion and daughter shadowing behind him.


	2. Chapter Two

Astrin

  
  


Hours have passed after their argument. The storm that had recently raged through the Frozen Shore finally broke last night, which gave Astrin a chance to be out in the open woods, and not confined to their camp. Today is her Nameday, and it is as if the sky opened up for her, beckoning her to be free to roam. She always wants to be in the open woods, no matter how dark it gets, she has always found them inviting. They couldn’t be more than a league away from the Frozen Shore, or so her father had said, but you could still taste the saltwater in the air, however faint it was. Astrin longed for these days out with her father, it seemed to be the only time he was really able to focus on their family, and not worry about the villages or his Trading Posts. However their earlier fight seemed to sour this day for them both. 

Astrin walked behind her father, and stood silently while they looked for more prey. The only sounds that distracted from the quiet calm of the forest, were the occasional rustle of countless creatures escaping their peripheral, and their footsteps as they made their way through the recent snowfall. 

They caught a few rabbits already, which will make for a good stew. Whatever game they bring home is shared within their camps. As her father and Tormund weren’t cooks, that job became designated to a member of their post. 

Normally her success overcoming fast prey brought her joy, but today it seemed unimportant. Astrin reckoned this must have been the longest she’s been quiet. But after her father's angry outburst, she didn’t know how to reason with him at this moment, or revel in their hunt it seemed. 

She accepted why he would be cautious; as he was exiled to the wall; he wouldn’t be able to come with her on these travels south. But she could not understand why her father was so tempered at her wish to travel at all, and even more upsetting was how he would never tell her why he was irritable about the subject. But as she looked up at him, her resolve began to crumble. Astrin could continue to argue the situation and get nowhere, proving to him she was still a child, or if she suppressed her interest to her father for now, she could persuade him later on. As her father had explained military tactics to her; she could willingly lose this battle to eventually win the war. 

Her Uncle is King of Westeros, and Aunt Sansa the Queen in the North, or what Southerners called ‘The North’, she could not foresee any issues with a few years of travel and new experience before returning to settling down, and then continue her father’s work. Perhaps he thought she would never come back to him after travelling? She found this notion rather ridiculous- many of the Freefolk including the Spearwives said the South’s air was putrid with the stench of pig shit, and wasting fat Southerners who sit in their stone and mud homes all day. If that is what it’s like in the South why wouldn’t her father send her there to see how awful it is? She’d most likely spend a day there and race back to their home. The whole situation confusing and irritated her. Astrin let out a sigh before responding- 

“Father.” 

He turned around, looking down at her with guarded eyes. 

As if knowing she was about to humble herself, Ghost mysteriously wandered ahead. He seemed to pick up on her and her father’s emotions, and at this moment he must have sensed her yearning to not being exposed as a girl begging for forgiveness. After assessing the old direwolf, she drew a long breath. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you, I promise not to ask to go south again…” 

Her father raised an eyebrow at that proclamation.

“Never?”

She thought about what she just said, she was always told it wasn’t right to lie. But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t embellish the truth. 

“ Well-not NEVER. But at least for the time being I’ll try to be good.” 

There was silence, and for a moment she thought he would be angry again. Instead he laughed, not a booming laugh like Tormund, her father’s laughter was always gentle, never too loud, or obnoxious, and it always touched his eyes exposing the crows feet that liked to remain concealed. 

“You negotiate like a Stark, Little Wolf. I cannot argue with that.” 

Her apology must have worked, as he went back to calling her by the name he bestowed upon her from a young age. She smiled triumphantly, not masking her victory-when a rustling in the underbrush ahead of them brought them back to the task at hand. 

Her father went low, as not to alert what was ahead, Astrin followed suit readying her bow and knocking an arrow in case of a quick flight of the animal. She used these trips to see how her father hunts, taking in all the information she can get until it became second nature. When she watched her father, it was as if the traditions given to him were being passed down to her. She did the same with the Spearwives and Tormund, although he was mostly a drunken ass on hunts. However she would never say this aloud in case her father heard her speak such language. But she does enjoy the stories Tormund would tell her on these hunts, he’d clearly flourish on the details, either to make her laugh or just to plainly boast.

Both her father and Astrin crept towards an opening in the trees where Ghost was waiting for them. About fifteen yards ahead lay a frozen meadow, brushes and small plants were strewn about poking through the snow. Towards the middle was a stag, grazing at the feast of forested plants before him; it was too preoccupied to notice it’s demise at the edge of the meadow. 

Jon motioned with the hand signals he taught her, he would creep around to the right side of the meadow through the thick line of trees, his final placement would be in the direct line of sight of the stag. So when he bolted, John would be able to take him by surprise. Astrin kept her position with Ghost, keeping her bow loaded and in aim to let her arrow fly once Jon was ready. Astrin focused on her breathing remembering what Elva told her ‘light shallow breaths, any beast would hear you panting’, her knees grew sore in her crouched position, but if she made this shot, it would be her first ever stag and wouldn't that be the best Nameday gift. She would use the pelt for a new cloak.

She heard her father's best Longspur call; signaling her go ahead. She sat up straighter while still crouching, taking a deep breath to steady herself while pulling the bowstring back.

Suddenly, a loud snapping and growl behind Astrin startled her, the arrow jolted from her bow and sliced through the air- the stag looked up as it whistled right past its rear. As if the stag understood it’s fate; it moved farther left of the meadow obscuring it’s view from Astrins current position. Just her luck she thought. Snapping her focus away from her failed shot, she looked at Ghost who stared back with innocent eyes. Any outsider would have fallen for this faint expression, Astrin knew better seeing him hind deep in a rustling bush. Astrin tried her best to muffle her groan, and muttered 

“Gods be damned, Ghost..”

While giving the oblivious old wolf her best searing glare. He ignored Astrin and went back to hunting for the small prey that must be scurried deep within the confines of the bush.

She turned her attention back to the clearing, it appeared the stag wasn’t too spooked by her mishap. As it stayed to the left, still concealed by the trees. She looked over to where she knew her father must be, it would be too far for him to adjust. She waited for a moment to see if he’d retreat back to her position, however no matter how long she waited- there was no sign of his dark silhouette. He must have faith that she can reassess their circumstances, or perhaps its a test of her hunting skills. 

Astrin stayed in that spot, pondering what decision she should make. Did her father adapt and move farther away? It seemed unlikely. She didn’t hear a secondary bird whistle. Should she move directly behind and go in for the kill? The latter seemed even more stupid than her first thought. Even if she could sneak up on the stag, her strength and bow were not enough to take down the beast. Astrin knew then what she needed to do, she trusted her father would be in the same position, so it would be best to lead their prey into her father's sight. She stood up slightly, making sure to stay close to the ground.

“Ghost, come.”

She beckoned with more than a whisper. However it was enough to stir the direwolf away from toying with his prey.

They both started to move west of the meadow, as slowly as possible to make sure they didn’t disturb the stag. Every so often she would use a tree as her cover, making sure she wasn’t being spotted from the dense forest. Ghost stood by, curious as to what she was doing. He probably thought Astrin was playing a game like when she was little; a time where Ghost used to chase her through the camps until father had to come and break up their ruckus. Mostly due to them trampling through other Freefolks tent sites. 

After making it twenty yards or so from their original position, Astrin had a view of her target. She looked to her left where Ghost was standing, even though she is now in her thirteenth year his size still made it that they remained at eye level. She formed her hand into a fist excluding her pointer finger, which pointed straight up within her glove, and raised it to her lips.

“We have to be quiet now, or else we may never have another chance Ghost. Stay. Put.” 

Astrin emphasized the last part to strain the importance. Understanding her command, he planted his rear onto the ground, remaining stoic. His white fur seemed to dissipate into the snow behind him, the only thing betraying his camouflaged state were his eyes, red as the hottest ember-yet even darker so.

Pleased with Ghost’s obedience she turned once more toward the stag, who appeared oblivious to his encounter with Astrin earlier. She started to ready her bow, slowly easing each foot into the snow as she crept towards the cover of a closer tree. Each step felt like a hammer swinging down upon the earth. It somehow synced to the beating of her heart. 

Once she made it safely with no disruptions, she took out another arrow, this one just as steady as the first. Knocking the arrow again, Astrin readied herself. She briefly closed her eyes to steady her pounding heart, words from those who trained her raced through her mind. If she could manifest her thoughts, they’d probably best the stags speed in a race. 

She thought of the first time she shot a hare. Her father crouching by her side.

“Remember little wolf, breath in when you pull the string back. Then out, when you let go.” 

She’d do just that, like the countless hunts before. Just as she was ready to draw the string, a rustling occurred behind her.

Astrin turned around to chastise Ghost again- when she saw him still planted to that one spot. Confusion spread across her face when she heard another snap come from her left. A cold shiver ran up her spine. She stood up, a mistake Elva would have scolded her for if she were here. However if something was stalking Astrin, she was already found. 

She lifted up her bow with shaking hands to aim towards the direction of where the sound came from. She understood she couldn’t make a mistake. Friend or foe, Astrin knew she would have to make the first move. Another sound helped her pinpoint that the noise came from above. Without a second thought, she aimed in the direction of a jutting branch from the tree in front.

Perched atop was a large bird, with silken, ebony feathers. It looked like the type father sent to her aunt and uncle in the south, a raven she believed. However this one did not appear to look like one she’s ever seen before. On the front of its face was a deformity above its beak. She lowered her bow with a heavy relieved sigh. 

“Oh you awful bird- you scared me!” 

It stared down at her with inquisiting eyes, cocking its head to the side as she spoke. Astrin found its curious nature unnerving. She looked around to find a small rock, crouching down to pick one up. She then threw it towards the bird to spook it without any harm. The bird descended from its perch, she watched as it left. Unaware of the fanged beast that lunged directly at her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU:
> 
> Holy moly, we didn't expect to get this many followers on the first two chapters, thank you guys so much for all the support and thank you to those who are following the story. We're currently typing our way through the later chapters, and it's been helpful and motivating to stay on track! As promised here is the next chapter, again leave us a review of what you think. We love hearing from you guys, if we haven't reached out about a review-we're sorry. Pricelessbread has been delusional from lack of sleep, school and work. Plus Gidget had to pick up the slack of her delusional co-writer.
> 
> Sent with adoration and virtual confetti,
> 
> PricelessBread
> 
> Gigdet

**Jon**

Astrin's frightened scream echoed off the trees sending Jon into a panic. He wasted no time abandoning his post, bow, and arrows against a thick oak tree. Stag be damned if the thing was too stupid to have already run off. Jon ran as fast as he could across the meadow. The ankle deep snow made him feel as though he was trudging through thick muck,

"Astrin!"

He called, his own voice reverberating around him, bouncing sporadically matching the trepidation he felt in his heart. It felt like years had passed him before he got her response.

"Father help!"

Jon had no time to feel relieved when he heard her voice, he could hear two distinct growls about twenty yards from her original position, redirecting he cleared the meadow and burst through the thick treeline. Drawing Long Claw from its scabbard he could see Astrin pinned to a tree, her bow and arrows scattered in the snow beside her. Ghost crouched in a defensive manner snarling, he'd positioned himself in front of Astrin to protect her against the beast that prowled before them. From Jon's location he could see that his oldest companion wasn't harmed, however the same couldn't be said for what lay before Ghost.

The large dire wolf that stood before them was badly injured, an arrow protruding from its chest was the cause of the beasts heavy bleeding. It's blood was starting to well around its paws, each drop steamed as it impacted with the snow-evaporating it. From a distance Jon could see a large gash on it's right hind leg, dried blood was starting to stick to the darkened ash and white brindle fur. The wolf stood with its leg slightly lifted, indicating it was also badly broken. Jon noticed the gash appeared to be a couple days old at the very least, as no blood oozed from the wound and infection had already taken hold. He would be surprised if the beast even lasted through the night.

Jon approached Astrin slowly, she was visibly shaking- silent tears flowed down her face. Jon reached out to her, resting his gloved hand on her cheek; He gave her a brief once over, checking for any wounds. She wasn't hurt, thank the Gods. He focused back on the only injured party there.

"Stay here little wolf, I'll take care of this."

Jon watched her as the shock wore off with the touch of his hand to her cheek, he noted that she has registered what he said, but a fresh wave of panic flowed through her as she must have realized what he meant,

"Father it's hurt we have to help."

Jon knew the wolf was beyond help, it had not moved an inch since his arrival, and it took a non-aggressive position, clearly it knew it would lose the fight with Ghost. The two wolves were nearly matched in height, however Ghost clearly has the advantage. Jon could see in its eyes that it was ready for death, but the arrow it held in its chest only promised a slow and painful end, as did the infection. Jon nodded in response,

"That is exactly what I'm going to do, you stay here, don't move."

Jon waited until she slowly nodded her head. Lowering his hand from her face Jon moved carefully next to Ghost,

"Relax Ghost, follow close."

The aging wolf looked into his master's eyes, the slight shift of light in his red eyes is confirmation he understood what was next. The pair approached the injured wolf, Jon raising his hand that didn't hold Long Claw,

"Easy, we want to help you."

The wolf began growling as they grew closer, yellow eyes shifting between the two of them, but they were becoming distant and glazed. A sign that the blood loss was growing too great for the wolf to do anything, let alone attack. With his other hand gripping Longclaw, he slowly lowered it to the snow-dropping it as a sign of goodwill to the wounded animal.

Since moving closer, he was able to take a better look at the wolf's injury. Jon recognized the arrow plunged into its chest as the same training arrows Astrin had presented to him earlier that day. The Direwolf must have been hunting the stag across the clearing when her stray arrow caught him. She was too startled at that moment to have made such an accurate shot. Luck must have not favored him today with his broken leg, his daughter successfully marked a beast, however unintentional it was .

"There now, you'll rest easy here soon…"

The direwolf was too weak at this point to fight back against Jon's hand that was now rested at the nape of its neck. Crouching slightly to better position himself. The amber pools of the wolfs eyes looked up one final time before lowering. With his head bowed, Jon reached for his concealed knife by his thigh. Raising it to make a quick slash at its throat, severing the jugular for a quick death. The wolf made one final yelp, before its body sagged. Jon was glad he was here to administer mercy to the poor beast.

He stayed there for a moment cradling the direwolf to his chest, making sure it was a true and clean death. He struggled to gently lower the wolf, its body limped with a final thud to the ground. Asterin walked over, a sadness creeping into her eyes when she saw the arrow jutting from the dead animals chest.

"I'm so sorry Father I didn't mean to kill it. I-I didn't know it was close.."

The thick warbel in her voice made Jon's heart lurch. He took his child's hand in his, he knew she would never hurt another creature except for survival, and the fact it was a dire wolf made it even harder for her.

"I know you didn't sweet girl, it's alright now, he's feasting in the forest of the Gods."

Jon released her hand, he wasn't going to leave the arrow in the wolfs chest. He would send Elva, or one of her spear wives back here to properly burn the wolf, he didn't like the idea of someone coming across the corpse and skinning it, or using it's bones and meat, there were plenty of other creatures in these woods for that. The dire wolves were apart of his and Astrin's family legacy, it would be a bad omen for them not to give it a good burial. Jon gripped the wood arrow and pulled with gentle force, but the arrow didn't budge. Strange it was a training arrow, the tip would be sharpened to a point and should slide out with ease. Redjusting his grip he pulled with full force this time. With a loud pop and sputter the arrow finally released. It wasn't Astrins arrow, this one had a rough iron tip with jagged edges. Who was hunting out here with a broadhead? Jon looked to Astrin, she had the same shocked expression as his.

"Did you tip this arrow Astrin?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"No father, you and Elva won't let me hunt with them yet, I promise I didn't."

Jon believed her, Astrin may be strong willed and rambunctious, but she would never deliberately disobey his and Elva's rules for training, yet, someone had done this. Jon cleaned the tip of the arrow on the front of his thick woolen breeches, and placed the arrow in a hidden pocket within his cloak, he would ask about the arrow once they returned to camp. If there was a wildling child hunting with an iron tipped arrow without the proper training, that was an issue of safety for everyone, it angered him that Astrin was an unknowing bystander to a foolish act like this, but Gods be good Ghost was with her. Jon felt as though he had said this sentiment too many times today.

He looked west where he knew their new trading post was being constructed, the sun was starting to creep to the horizon. Exhaustion started to wash over him realizing how long they'd been out here. Jon reflected he was not as young as he once was, he stood up and went to pick up LongClaw from its abandoned spot in the snow. After sheathing the Valyrian sword, he turned back to Astrin,

"Come along little wolf it's time we headed back to camp, Tormund should be arriving back at any moment."

Astrin solemnly nodded, as her attention went back to the corpse once more. She knitted her brows as her gaze was drawn to something behind the tree; that the slain direwolf was in front of.

"Somethings over here."

Before Jon could utter a command, she bolted behind the tree. He moved closer to get to her position, once there he saw Astrin clutching a small black creature to her chest. She looked up at him with giddy excitement. The sadness that was there moments ago vanished.

"It's a pup!"

The animal in her arms confirmed this with tiny yaps. Jon assessed that this pup must have been with the Direwolf that lay dead. He could also see how sickly it was, it would barely last a winter out here, and that was while it's parent was still alive.

"Aye, it is. He appears to also be too frail. Hand him over so that I can take care of him."

Astrin's eyes widened as she realised what he meant to do, shaking her head while backing away from Jon,

"No, I don't want you to hurt 'im."

It pained him to see her this upset, he knew she was only trying to show the poor creature mercy. His child has always been blessed with a tender heart towards the weak, like her mother. But in this instance, she needed to understand that death was the kindest thing she could give. He moved to kneel down in front of her, so that she and him could be at eye level. The next words he spoke were as tender he could possibly make them.

"You know the pup won't survive long out here. Would you let them starve and freeze, or get injured just like it's parent?"

She stared down at the black tuft of fur, nodding her head once.

"But he doesn't have to survive out here. He can come home with us."

Jon sighed, exasperated over countless arguments they've had about this in the past. No matter where they went, she never wanted to get a regular hound, one that was disciplined through generations of breeding within the freefolk territories. It was always a damned direwolf she had set her eyes on.

"You know fully well that we cannot raise a direwolf within the camps. A wild animal cannot be loose to run around."

He was always able to curb this conversation, as most direwolves they've seen were raised into their adulthood; too wild to be tamed, and the mothers too vicious protecting their young, to allow unwanted visitors from taking the pups. They were tough creatures to deal with in the woods, but a thousand times worse when they wandered into a tribes land. Most freefolk steered clear whenever Ghost padded through camp alone.

Astrin looked up with an unwavering look, he knew she was too determined to listen to him at this point.

"He won't be wild, I'll make sure he learns, Ghost will teach him to be civil. An' besides if he could learn to behave in a stone camp, then this one will be a lot easier with us in the wild. Please father let me keep him... as a nameday gift, I won't ask for anything else!"

Jon drew a long sigh. That is what concerned him the most though, the fear of it being too close to its roots, he knew Astrin would keep her word of training the pup. However he couldn't count on the creatures. He now knew what his father must have been thinking all those years before. When all the Stark children were given a direwolf pup of their own. As wild and different with personalities like their owners. He knew he wouldn't be able to deny her, besides this may teach her discipline. After a time, he finally looked to his daughter. Whom appeared to be holding her breath in anticipation.

"You swear to take care of him?"

She nodded as she spoke. "Yes Father."

" I nor Elva, Tormund or anyone else will not be his keeper-"

"You won't have to be-"

He silenced her with a stern look, to bring his next point across. His words echoed those of his father's many years ago.

"I'm not finished. You will train him yourself, you will feed him yourself. And if he were to fall ill and die, you will bury him yourself…"

Her head bobbed, nodding to each point he brought to her.

Astrin looked up to him,

"I swear to you Father, on the Old Gods and the new, to care for 'im."

Jon put his arm around her shoulders, herding her to the direction he knew they came from.

"Then it's settled, let's head home to celebrate the rest of this day with the others."

Jon watched as she bounded ahead of him and Ghost; the pups head resting on Astrins shoulder, he watched Jon with excited eyes. He is rather cute, Jon thought remembering how sweet Ghost was when he was a pup. He felt at peace as they walked through the dense forest.

That was a feeling he had only really experienced a few times; when the Stark Bannermen burned the Bolton banners, and rehung the stark sigil where it has always belonged, with Ygritte in that cave a lifetime ago, while riding a dragon through the lands of the North, and finally with Astrin's mother, but he was happy the feeling still came to him when he is with his daughter, in this moment all was right in this world.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU:
> 
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Astrin

  
  
  


They arrived back to camp just as the sun was setting. The small direwolf pup wiggled endlessly in Astrin’s arms, nipping at her chin, and licking her everywhere it’s little snout could reach. She couldn’t help but giggle at its rambunctious behavior. Astrin smelled the rich scent of roasted meat currently spinning on the spit from a passerby’s tent. Her stomach growled-indicating she was overdue for a meal, she grew excited at the prospect of feeding her new best friend. Once he’d grown big enough Astrin could train him to be useful while on hunts as well.

As she, and her father approached the main square of camp, she could see Tormund’s horse hitched next to his tent. She felt heavy relief that he’d made it home safely; Astrin always worried when her father, and Tormund left their main camp to travel to another, they would often be gone for months at a time. 

However, her father did not often travel far anymore. She assumed it was due to the tantrums she used to throw, she went so far as to hide his saddle, bridal, and their packs of food for travel. At one point she went so far as to hide Longclaw from her father while he slept, the trip he was going on would take him away for four months, and Astrin was not going to let that happen. She’d never seen him so furious, he forbade her from training until his return, and decreed from then on Astrin had to sleep with Elva in her tent the nights leading up to his departure. Astrin may be as quiet as a mouse when she wanted to sneak off and cause mischief, but her light feet were no match for Elva’s sharp senses, yet. 

No matter how much she protested and clung to him crying, begging him not to go. Her father's resolve before that trip never seemed to waver. Their return to Astrin and the camp however was a different story. All she had to do was look up at her father with wide, sorrowful eyes, and a heartfelt apology- and he would cave in as predicted. Elva often asserted that her father was a susceptible fool for being deceived so easily. 

Astrin has always known about her father’s soft spot for her, but she was careful not to abuse this weakness. She didn’t like the guilty feeling that would follow, so she saved her manipulations for more important matters, such as not having to follow Elva’s strict rules that came with staying in her camp. 

Alas Tormund had finally grown annoyed of these dramatics, so he would often volunteer to take these treks alone, unless it was absolutely necessary for her father to go.

Astrin ran towards Tormund’s tent excited to show him her new pup.

“Tormund!”

She called, her father following close behind, she waited for a moment expecting to hear Tormund's usual banter, but the space within the tent remained silent.

“Come out oldman, or I’ll be forced to stick you with yer spear!”

Her father tsked behind her,

“It’s not kind to threaten old men Little Wolf. It’s possible he keeled over.”

Astrin grinned while looking back to her father, he normally didn’t join her in heckling Tormund, he must have missed him since he has been gone for several months. A rustling from within the tent brought her attention back to the unkempt campsite of the old wildling. A grumbling voice started cursing a colorful array of slurs as it drew near the closed entrance of the tent. The hide that was currently covering the entrance, was lifted up by the large, and now graying red haired man who shuffled out. Due to his size, Tormund was forced to crouch slightly whenever entering or leaving any tent.

“Are both of ye done? I’m fine by the way. Made it back safe, you didn’t think to ask me what perils I faced, now have ye runt?”

She scowled at the nickname he bestowed upon her. She is smaller than most of the other children her age, but what she lacks in height she makes up for in fiery spirit. 

“A runt I may be, but I can still knock you down old man!”

Tormund approached the pair with a grin spreading across his disheveled bearded face,

“I missed yer sharp tongue, young one. What’s that you got there?” 

Astrin held up the squirming pup so Tormund could get a better look.

“He’s a direwolf pup! His momma died, so father agreed that I could keep em!” 

Tormund looked to Jon before responding,

“Ah-so yer old man gave in I see, make sure he doesn't turn out as wild as you.” 

Astrin laughed holding the pup closer to her chest so he didn’t wiggle out of her hold. Her father and Tormund shared a greeting between old friends. 

“We have much to talk about Snow, let’s sit and drink”

Astrin felt a sudden tension between the two men, the look they share between themselves was one she couldn't quite decipher.

“Little wolf…”

Her father said after their silent exchange,

“...why don’t you show Elva and the others your new friend, I’ll meet you in the dining tent once Tormund and I are finished.” 

Even though there was an uncomfortable change in the air, she was curious as to what news Tormund brought. But she knew father would never let her listen, even if she sat silently. 

“Yes father, but don’t take too long we're starving.”

He smiled reaching a hand out to stroke her cheek affectionately.

“Don’t worry it won’t take long, now run along.” 

Tormund cleared his throat to interject before she wandered off.

“I have something for ye, lass.”

He moved swiftly to his horse unbuttoning one of his large saddle packs, he carefully removed something from it’s deep bottom. When he approached again, he held out to Astrin a beautifully preserved blue winter rose. Astrin has always loved the northern blue roses, they were one of the few flowers over the wall that grew despite the cold and snow. She hadn’t seen one since she was at Crastor’s Keep three years ago, a trader south of the wall had brought up many different flowers and herbs to sell. However the blue rose had no medicinal value, merely a luxury the merchant wished to bring to flatter the freefolk women with. This flowers hue before her, just as vibrant as she remembered. 

Astrin reposinted the pup securing him in the crook of her elbow, so she could free a gloved hand to receive the gift. 

“ You remembered my favorite flower, thank you so much Tormund!”

She held the fragrant flower to her nose, it’s scent sweet and comforting. Tormund must have made a request from a merchant in Hardhome, a grin spread across her face as looked up at his.

“You think I would forget yer name day, did you?”

Tormund grind, 

“Elva can show you how to dry it so you can keep her forever.”

Astrin had never thought to dry the other roses she found, the idea of always having it made her even more excited to find Elva.

“I’ll go ask her right now! Thank you again Tormund.”

With that Astrin turned to run in the direction she knew Elva would be in, Ghost of course is right on her heels. So far this nameday was the most exciting yet, and she wondered if the next one would be just as eventful.


	5. Chapter 5

**AU:**

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**Jon**

Jon continues to watch his daughter's retreating form disappear into the clatter of tents and people. He wishes he could follow her, instead of having to listen to Tormund's news; Jon knew something was wrong the moment he saw that Tormund had arrived, if it was good he would have already been too drunk to give his information, until tomorrow when he sobered up. As they entered Tormund's tent Jon could hardly stand the cryptic mood a moment longer.

"What happened?"

Tormund shrugged, taking off his gloves and outer furs, slowly making his way across his homestead-carelessly throwing his excess attire towards his freshly laid sleeping pallet which remained close to the blazing flames in his fire pit. Although the fire didn't need to be stoked, Tormund threw another log on positioning it slowly and observing his work as the flames danced.

"Why are you acting as if someone has died Tormund."

"Someone has died, Snow."

His blunt response didn't take Jon by surprise, but Gods was he hoping Tormund was being overdramatic. His old friend took his time relocating to the pallet-sitting cross legged while holding his hands out to warm next to the fire.

"Who, Tormund?"

"Roarke, they found 'im strangled in 'is sleep. They couldn't figure out who did it, so

they held a council without alerting the other tribes... Already picked a new Chief. "

Jon stood stunned for a moment. Roarke is-was the head Chieftain of Hardhome. All settlements were run by a Chieftain; they were in charge of running all of the settlers living permanently at the posts, as well as the daily functions the posts require. Jon had also taught them how to hold democratic elections, the same process he was taught when he was apart of the old Night's Watch. Normally when a Chieftain dies, or steps down from their position Jon was made aware via Raven.

"When did he die? When did they hold the election?"

"I don't know, fuckers wouldn't open the gates for me, said they would only

speak to you. I got lucky when I ran into a bunch of crows, on my way back up to the Fist of the First Man. Said they were turned away from the gates too, but one of em overheard a hunting party in the haunted forest talking about Roarke and the election, makes no sense when the guards at the gate told them it was because of a fever burning through the settlement. But someone in charge is full of shit. I think they are planning a revolt Snow, which could be why they only want to talk to you."

Jon knew by coming to the Frozen Shore that some of the Wildlings would look at this as a betrayal. Having the traders travel over the wall was one thing, but giving access to their coast made some of them highly suspicious of the south's intentions. Despite all of Jon's council, and reassurance that Sansa and Bran have no intentions of invading the Wildling territory. It appears all of his words have fallen of deaf ears. Jon continued to stand awkwardly next to the fire pit, Tormund's eyes never breaking contact with his. After much ruminating Jon finally managed to respond.

"I'll send a raven to Hardhome and figure out who the new Chief is. Hopefully they will

agree to hold a council meeting."

Tormund lurched to his feet, anger blazing in his eyes,

"No more ravens-Snow! No more talks either, this is an out right act of war and we should treat it as such!"

Jon is taken aback by Tormund's outburst, it'd been a long time since he's seen Tormund so worked up over a freefolk dispute; but Jon is no king this was not his land to govern and control as he saw fit. Jon recalled a time when he became that inflamed with conflict, he has already lived to see himself become the lord of Winterfell, and the King in the North. A failure that still weighed on him to this day, it was his greatest honor, yet his most regrettable sacrifice. He now sees himself as an advisor, and a man of resources that wishes to share with those who have none. No, Jon would not go to war with any tribe or settlement he helped create, it was not his place, nor his duty.

"So what do you suggest we do then? Since it seems you have a plan."

Jon gritted, he tried to keep his tone as civil as possible, but even he could hear his own irritation drip from every word despite his best efforts. Tormund drew closer leaving about a foot between them.

"We have one hundred and fifty men here that can march with us to the Fist of the First

Man, when we get there Torin has agreed to lend us another two hundred of his men to take with us to Hardhome. That should be enough for them to open the gates, or we open them ourselves."

Regardless of having three hundred and fifty men at his disposal, Jon knew that this march would cost more than sending a simple raven out. What if there really is a fever, which would explain why there was such a hasty election, and no word to the other tribes. That still left the question of who strangled Roarke. He was a notable member of the Free Folk, he survived the Battle of the Bastards, as well as the Long Night, he learned to read quickly, as well as how to perform simple addition and subtraction; His willingness to learn was imperative for the survival of the post without Jon present. No one would ever want Roarke to step down, or dead. This is too drastic of a move to make sense.

"We will not march to Hardhome, I will send a raven and we will handle this with

civility. I am not their king, or lord, Tormund, they have to learn how to handle

themselves. I'm merely here to help guide peaceful resolutions, and establish an

economy. Once I am gone, Astrin and the other young Freefolk will carry the torch for the new generation, after her the Freefolk will be stable enough to be completely independent in their own governing, as well as their relations with the South. I expect you to tell Torin we will no longer need his men for support."

The look on Tormund's face was a warning, Jon either moved out of the way of his fist, or go. Jon decided leaving was the best option for now, he turned and began to move towards the entrance.

"You're a fool, Jon Snow. Did you even think about the fact that this could be Ivar?"

'You know nothing Jon Snow' Jon froze halfway out of the tent, far away words of knowing nothing echo in his mind. There was a time when he heard Yigritts voice everyday, guiding him like a conscious, it had been years since he last heard her, it felt like an omen, and fear sank in his belly like a stone. Jon loosened his tight grip on the heavy hide still pulled back in his hand. He turned around slowly letting the hide fall back into place.

"What does Ivar have to do with this?"

Tormund crossed his arms,

"If you think Roarke died by some random mishap- you're wrong, he was Roark's kin you know this."

By southern family standards Roarke is Ivars uncle, even though they are related both men are two completely different people, Roarke was likeable, Ivar is not. Still Jon seriously doubts he has the stones to murder his own kin.

"Why would Ivar-"

"I'll tell you why he murdered his father's brother in cold blood Snow..."

Tormund moved quickly, grabbing Jon by the front of his leather coverlet holding his face inches from his own.

"You have allowed that man too many second chances Jon, and now it's come to this..."

He paused for a moment, the only thing Jon could hear is Tormund's heavy breathing. Jon never knew his friend was this frustrated with him, it pained him to think Tormund no longer regarded the rules and limits Jon had placed so long ago.

"...The crows caught 'im lurking around the Wall four months ago; he and his merry crew of twats were harassing the traders passing through to Craster's Keep. He pulled out a knife, an' threatened to slit the southerners throat if they didn't pack up and go home. I showed you the fucking letter, but you didn't think it was important because the crows handled it! Do you remember what the crows did?"

No he couldn't remember, so Jon shook his head, as he did so Tormund's hold on him loosened but the look in his eye stayed sharp. He growled in frustration as he released Jon from his hold,

" The crows also know Ivar is kin to Roarke, so a few of them escorted him and his men back to Hardhome, they wanted Roarke to decide his punishment. Then a fortnight later Roarke ends up dead. Seems a little off to me, don't you think?"

Jon has always thought of Ivar as crass, quick to anger, and obsessive. Whenever he set a goal he will see it's completion no matter the cost. Despite that Jon never thought that he would cut down his own family for any purpose, Ivar may be a stubborn-spoiled brute but his only loyalty is to his clan. After the Long Night their goal was to replenish their numbers like many of the remaining freefolk clans, but Ivar's a member of an ancient tribe, their blood dating back to when Jon's family had begun constructing the earliest developments of winterfell, their blood is important to them, and murdering his uncle definitely would not have been a clan decision, he has to be pursuing this on his own with members on the outside of the family. Tormund was right for once; Jon has underestimated Ivar for years, and if Ivar's complete lack of respect for his late wife Tienne had not been enough to catch his attention this surely is. Jon suddenly remembered the dire wolf Astrin and him encountered a few hours ago, the tipped training arrow that was plunged into the direwolf's chest. Someone had sent someone to do it, Jon didn't know how, but there was no way a tipped training arrow just happened to end up in a Dire Wolf, it was a message... someone is already in the camp.

"Why do I have the feeling you have nothing good on yer mind."

Tormund groused, his crossed arms seemed so tense he could snap his own mid section in half.

Jon reached into the inner pocket of his cloak, his gloved fingers curled around the arrow, he held the thing out to Tormund the stains of blood still visible on the wood shaft. Tormund took it twirling it between his two pointer fingers, trying to piece together it's meaning. He looked over to Jon with an expressionless glance.

"Why the Fuck are you showing me a training arrow?"

Jon took a deep breath and began to recount the event with the Dire Wolf. When Jon was finished Tormund looked absolutely frightening. Jon knew the majority of his rage was at the fact Astrin was caught in the cross hairs, Tormund has children of his own, but they were grown and off taking care of their own offspring, Tormund had once admitted to Jon he was never very close to them, freefolk men often weren't back in those days, if he could go back and be a better father he would, but he cannot, so Astrin has been a way of repentance and his love for her is as deep as Jon's, on the day of her birth he pledged his life to protect her no matter if the cost is his life.

"A spy it has to be. The crows gave me a letter they intercepted from a raven, it was flying from the direction of Hardhome, they have to have someone here already Jon, let me find it, it should be in my coat."

Tormund quickly moved to his pallet, he began rummaging through his discarded coat and handed the parchment to Jon upon its retrieval. Jon unrolled the small scroll taking his time to read the message carefully. After reading the contents to himself he began to read it outloud for Tormund; while his reading has improved some over the years this scroll was way beyond his understanding due to it being written in some kind of code or riddle.

"The winds from Hardhomes triumph and fortification should reach you in three moon cycles. Be ready when the men with one hundred fish come to distribute our bounty and celebrate the wolf's work."

Jon re-examined the scroll several times, before looking to Tormund. Once they made eye contact, Tormund let out a grunt, rolling is eyes he muttered,

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? 'Be ready when the men with one hundred fish come'? And how the hell did Ivar write something like that, he can barely write his own name."

Jon rerolled the parchment slipping it into his cloak pocket next to the arrow, this evidence is all he would need to bring whoever is was to justice.

"Ivar must have a maester held up in Hardhome, poor man was probably just passing through when the gates were closed. As for what it means-that I cannot be sure, my best guess is that they are coming, in three moon cycles is the obvious."

He looked to Tormund once the items were safely tucked away. If Ivar was the writer of this letter, he meant to be cryptic. However as Jon mulled over this information it started to be clear where the main threat was; him.

'the wolf's work'

Jon often was called the White Wolf, not just because it was his families sigil; but due to his longtime companion. Starks have often expected honor-even those amongst their enemies, but it was clear to him that this wasn't an idol debate to be resolved over ale and a hot meal.

'Three moons, not as long as you'd hope, but it's enough' Jon thought. It's clear they would be bringing men, if the letter is correct. Jon presumed it would be the one-hundred 'fish'.

"Then we have some time to get ready for them, looks like we'll need some of Torin's men after all."

Tormund crossed his arms the fire burning in his eyes made him look devilish and wild just as he first looked to Jon back when they first met,

"First things first, we have to find the little rat that's hiding from us..."


End file.
